


Prisoner of War

by Liquid_Lyrium



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crush, M/M, Puppy Love, Teaching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-14
Updated: 2011-10-14
Packaged: 2017-10-24 15:06:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/264876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liquid_Lyrium/pseuds/Liquid_Lyrium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war is over, the soldier has returned home, but he is not free.</p><p>Inspired by shenanigans on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prisoner of War

**Author's Note:**

> I can't take the credit for the idea, it was a joint effort through tumblr. I think my head-cannon differs a little bit however, so this is like.. a little side-story offshoot or something. It's still Thedas, magic is still around, but magic became much weaker hundreds of years ago, with the exception of blood magic--a secret that Tevinter guards jealously.
> 
> I may expand on this later and add more to the story.
> 
> School is in session at Kirkwall Academy.

Apart from Headmistress Meredith, Instructor Fenris was one of the most feared members of the faculty employed at Kirkwall Academy. It was widely known that the man was a veteran of the recent war with Tevinter, like many of the faculty members; the license plate of his mid-sized, economy class sedan started with ‘POW.’

Prisoner of War.

Fenris hated the government issued plates with a passion, just as he hated the hideous markings—souvenirs from the war and his time under Tevinter ‘hospitality’.

 It was not without a bit of irony that he found himself teaching history. There was something… comforting in the way that the wars of five hundred years ago were not personal.  In fact, he took pains to make sure that the lessons were _not_ personal. Occasionally, where appropriate, he mentioned how the landscape of someplace he had been would factor into the strategy for a battle, but that was the most he let his first-hand knowledge seep into his lectures.

Aside from his bitter, derisive tone about Tevinter.

And his attitude towards mages.

And the way he sometimes, _sometimes_ , flipped desks across the room if students persisted in prodding him with inane questions about the war.

(As long as none of the students got hit by the flying furniture and the property damage wasn’t too bad, he was in the clear.)

He expressly forbade students from using the war in their papers, or mentioning it in class, although he wondered how many of them had lost brothers, fathers, mothers, and sisters to the bitter struggle.

Sometimes Fenris wondered how many of those family members he’d _killed_.

\---

“You know, you should really see someone,” Anders commented over lunch one day, in the faculty lounge.

Fenris felt his dark brows knit in annoyance as he shot the nurse a surly glare, “What?” His icy tone said he didn’t really want clarification.

“For your… you know. Issues. I don’t want to have to fix up a student just because you can’t _collar_ your anger one day,” it was a spectacularly poor choice of words. The elf felt his hackles rise and he clenched his fist.

“No one asked for your opinion, _Warden_.”  He used the title sneeringly. He didn’t know much else about Anders’s military career, other than he had been dishonorably discharged from the elite Warden Corps. The elf felt satisfaction take ahold of him as the color drained from the other man’s face.

“Just like you didn’t ask to be saved, I _get_ it,” Anders snapped waspishly.  “You _try_ to help someone..!”

“I do not _need_ your help,” Fenris spat the words out like they were laden with acid. He hated this man. This foolish mage who couldn’t have just let him die on the battlefield in _peace_.

“Fine, I see why the Headmistress likes you so much, you’re just as off-balance as she is,” Anders felt a cold chill run up his spine. Fenris lifted a dark brow at him. The blond swallowed suddenly, “She’s... standing right behind me, isn’t she?” The nurse turned and saw a very _livid_ Meredith standing behind him, her icy blue eyes glittering with cold fury. Anders licked his lips and tried to charm his way out of trouble, “Meredith! You’re looking so—“

“INSUBORDINATION!” the woman shrieked. “You are not even a teacher,” she boomed loudly “how _dare_ you try to undermine my authority with such accusations!”

Fenris smirked quietly to himself, and stood up, leaving the poor man to his fate. As he walked away he could hear the argument escalate into accusations of whitewashing history—of covering up truths about the past that every citizen of Thedas should know, the historic abuses and oppression of mages.

Fenris didn’t care about the accusations, he knew they were true enough. History was a collection of lies—the best ones, and the most enduring.

If his students learned nothing else, Fenris always tried to impress _this_ thought into their puerile brains.

Someday in the future, fifty or seventy years perhaps, the reasons for this latest war would be fabrications too. It was just over ten years now, and already the truth was a murky, muddled thing. Even the ‘victory’ the Free Marches had enjoyed was a lie.

Their armies had not beaten Tevinter.

They had been saved by the arrival of the Qunari.

Fenris nodded curtly at Sebastian Vael, as the Religious Education teacher went to go save Anders from Meredith’s wrath.

Fenris had an appointment to keep.

\---

“Pair off and practice the exercises I just gave you,” Fenris commanded in his smoothest tone. He knew many students were afraid of him, but he still somehow had students signing up for fencing club. He tried not to whip the students too soundly, when he sparred with them, but sometimes he forgot that they were just learning, that they needed to be _taught_ , still. When that happened Fenris would shift awkwardly and profusely apologize before continuing on with the lessons.

His favorite part about fencing was that it gave him an excuse to cover his face, and all his markings, save for the ones on his feet.

He felt a bit of… kinship, perhaps, with his fencing students, but he never allowed any of them too close. Fenris was not the type of instructor to lend a sympathetic ear and offer sage advice, and he felt it best to avoid unnecessary _closeness_ in the first place, in order to discourage such... bonding.

Fenris also, occasionally, found it necessary to rebuke the advances of sexually frustrated students. He assumed it must have something to do with the raging hormones and the general insanity that pervaded the adolescents.

So far, this year, he hadn’t had to reject any impulsive or inappropriate advances—apart from Isabela’s.

But the year was still young, and so were his students.

As if on cue, when he returned to his office later that day, an anonymous, badly written love poem had been left on his inbox. The man sighed and tossed it aside. The handwriting was messy and vaguely familiar. It didn’t matter. Whether it was a prank or seriously intended, the result was the same—a migraine.  Fenris unlocked the drawer to his desk and pulled out his meds and swallowed two in order to stave off a devastating headache. He graded papers and prepared his notes for the next class. He felt a brow twitch. Seamus Dumar, the student body president was in his last class of the day. The boy was inquisitive, and far too eager to learn about the Qunari. The boy wanted to set up _an exchange program_ with Par Vollen. A sharp burst of air escaped his nostrils. Those who went to _Seheron_ rarely returned. Going to Par Vollen was like asking to be lost to the rest of Thedas.

Still, it was probably better than Tevinter—probably.

\---

“—of course archeological evidence proves this report to be false. Once again, the reasons _remembered_ for causing this war are a _lie_. That’s all history is, it doesn’t matter what we say, but how we say it and _why_. Why we choose to remember things the way we do—the motivations for turning from the truth. Essays are due next week. Do not forget or the consequences will be _unimaginably_ severe. Dissmissed”

Most of the students cleared out in a hurry, but a long-haired boy from the fencing club stayed behind. Fenris righted his notes and pulled out the attendance sheet for his next class, “Quinntus?”

“Instructor, I just… wanted to say how impressed I am by your honesty.”

The remark threw Fenris for a moment, “I’m…sorry?”

“You’re not like other teachers I’ve had. You don’t try to pretend you know everything, you don’t give fake answers if you don’t know. You always tell us when something is wrong or false. Even when you’re teaching us all these.. lies… you’re honest about it.” Quinn smiled at the small, brief chuckle that was startled out of Fenris.

The man cleared his throat, “Yes, well. I see no reason in denying the truth of things as they are.” _Liar, bloody hypocrite, and coward_ a small voice screamed at him in his head. He wasn’t sure if it was his own voice or that damned ex-Warden. Maybe it was the ex-Fog Warrior still inside of him.

“Do not be late to your next class, Quinntus,” Fenris said when he realized that the young man was still standing there. Quinn nodded and quickly gathered up his bag and left just as the first student for Fenris’s last class of the day came in.

Fenris suddenly realized which student the terrible poem was from and sighed deeply, drumming his fingers on the podium

He chuckled again, after a moment, and shook his head with a smile.

 _Such foolish sentiments. Perhaps it would be kinder to ignore in this case, instead of rebuke._ Most students grew out of such crushes, after all, once they found a more suitable candidate for their affections.

Most of them.

It was a rare bird indeed, prepared to wage a war against such intimidating opposition.

 


End file.
